The Short-Wave Mystery

by Franklin W. Dixon

  The boys broke off as a man came running toward them out of the darkness. “That’s Dan Cronin, one of the night guards,” Biff said. “He’s just coming on for the late shift.”

  Cronin took in the situation quickly. Biff, now well enough to talk, explained that he had been patrolling outside the plant when someone had seized him from behind and clamped a rag over his face. “That’s all I remember.”

  “I figured something was wrong, even before I got here,” Cronin said. He told the boys he had been walking along the river, on his way to work, when he heard the alarm go off. “But don’t worry. I’ve already kayoed one of the thugs. He was trying to get away in a boat.”

  “In a boat?” Joe’s eyebrows shot up. “Good grief! That must’ve been my brother Frank!”

  The words were hardly out of his mouth when a motorboat engine racketed into life. Joe leaped up and sped toward the dock with Cronin.

  Too late! The Sleuth was already shooting out across the river. Joe’s yell brought no answer.

  “Are you sure that was your brother aboard?” Cronin asked.

  “I don’t know—I couldn’t make out,” Joe said, perplexed. “If that wasn’t Frank, where is he?”

  Both stared around the darkened shore area but could see no one. Puzzled and worried, Joe walked back with Cronin to Biff, who was now on his feet. All three entered the plant to attend to the other guard.

  Cronin’s mate on the night shift soon arrived, and a police car pulled up at the plant a moment later. By this time, the inside guard whom Frank had discovered was able to tell his story.

  “I was making my rounds when all of a sudden the lights went out,” he reported. “Turned out the phones were dead, too, so I hustled downstairs to check with Biff. As I came through the lobby, two guys jumped me—at least I think there were two. I never even got a look at ’em before they slapped a chloroform rag over my face.”

  Joe, who was growing increasingly worried over Frank, asked the squad-car sergeant to have Mr. Hardy notified at once. “Even if my brother’s okay,” Joe explained, “Dad has taken on a security investigation for Lektrex, and I think he should know about the robbery.”

  “Sure thing.” The sergeant nodded and told his driver to radio word to police headquarters. “Better have them alert Chief Collig, too.”

  While the police checked the safe for fingerprints and searched the plant, Joe and Biff went back to the riverfront to keep watch. But neither Frank nor the Sleuth returned.

  Meantime, the plant lights were restored. Mr. Hardy and Police Chief Collig arrived within seconds of each other. Both men listened intently to the stories of all involved.

  “Any idea how much was taken from the safe?” Collig asked the inside plant guard.

  “No, sir. Only the cashier could tell you that, or maybe one of the management.”

  “I called Jason Warner, the president,” Mr. Hardy put in. “He and his wife were out, but their maid thinks she can reach him.”

  Joe said, “Dad, I’m going out and try to raise Frank on your car’s short-wave.”

  “Good idea, son. If the Sleuth doesn’t respond, we’d better organize a search.”

  Twenty minutes of repeated calls brought no answer. As Joe reported failure, Mr. Hardy’s face became drawn and grim. He turned to Ezra Collig. “There’s nothing to be gained by waiting. Frank may be in serious danger. I’d like to use the police launch.”

  “It’s on the way,” Collig said. ’And I’ve already alerted the Coast Guard.”

  Presently the long, powerful launch came churning up to the dock. A spotlight blazed on its deckhouse. As Collig, Joe, Biff, and Mr. Hardy leaped aboard, the boat officer told his chief, “We just got a radiotelephone flash from the harbor master, sir. It may be a lead.”

  “Let’s have it!” Collig snapped.

  “A call came in from a cottager down at Green Point on the bay, just below the river mouth. Said he heard the noise of a motorboat putting in at a little brushy cove right next to his place. Seemed funny at this time of night, so he switched on his dock lights to try to see what was going on. He was just able to glimpse the boat as it went chugging away again.”

  “Who was in it?” the police chief demanded.

  Joe’s heart sank as the boat officer replied, “That’s why he called, sir. Apparently there was nobody aboard.”

  CHAPTER XIII

  A Tense Search

  “You mean the boat had just been turned adrift?” Mr. Hardy asked tensely.

  “Evidently,” the officer replied. “The cottager thought the boat might have been stolen and the thief was getting rid of it. That’s why he reported the incident to the harbor master.”

  “He could be wrong,” Collig cut in, noting the Hardys’ worried looks. “At a distance in the dark he wouldn’t be able to see too well. But we’ll check it out.”

  At a barked command from him, the launch revved its engines and shot away. Joe and his father gripped the rail in silence as they sped down the river, gnawed by fear.

  Was it the Sleuth the cottager had seen? And if so, what had happened to Frank? Had he been kidnapped by the gang? Biff said nothing but squeezed Joe’s arm sympathetically.

  The launch’s powerful searchlight swept the river from bank to bank, glinting back from windows of houses along the shore. The river itself seemed bare of any craft.

  “You saw no sign of a motorboat on your way upriver?” Mr. Hardy queried the boat officer.

  “No, and we heard none, either. But the Sleuth could have reached the bay before we entered the river, couldn’t it?”

  Joe nodded. “Sure, there was plenty of time—if it headed that way.”

  “Which way do you think it headed?” Mr. Hardy asked his son.

  “Downriver, from the sound of it. But it may have turned around after we went into the plant.”

  Reaching Barmet Bay, the police launch swung in the direction of Green Point. The craft’s brilliant beam scanned the dark, oily waters.

  “Look!” Biff yelled excitedly.

  Far out on the bay he had just seen a pinpoint flash of light. Two more flashes stabbed the darkness in quick succession. Then came three long flashes, followed by three more short ones.

  “SOS! Someone’s signaling for help!” Joe exclaimed. “Let’s go!”

  The launch sheered around and sped toward the flashes. Its bow ripped the water into wings of spray. Presently their search beam picked out a familiar craft some distance ahead.

  The Sleuth!

  It was drifting sluggishly. A lone figure aboard waved a flashlight as they approached.

  “Frank! Thank goodness he’s safe!” Fenton Hardy muttered tensely.

  The launch cut its engine and eased gently alongside. Joe tossed his brother a line to pull the two boats closer together. Then Frank scrambled up on the deck of the police craft.

  “What happened, son?” Mr. Hardy asked after embracing him.

  “The whole thing’s a mystery,” Frank replied. “Someone conked me with a board back at the Lektrex dock. When I came to, I was drifting on the bay out of gas and the radio smashed.”

  “The plant watchman kayoed you by mistake,” Joe explained. “He thought you were a robber.”

  “Then how come I wound up out here?” Frank asked in bewilderment. “Don’t tell me I steered all the way downriver unconscious!”

  “No, I’d say one of the real gang must have sneaked aboard after you were knocked out,” put in Mr. Hardy. “He probably used the Sleuth to make his own getaway.”

  “That doesn’t figure either, Dad.” Frank frowned, then winced as he fingered the bruise on the side of his head. “Joe and I heard a car speed off right after we stumbled over Biff. That must have been the robbers’ car.”

  “Could be. We’ll figure it out later after we get you to a doctor.” The investigator drew his son closer to the lighted deckhouse. “Let’s have a look at your head.”

  Frank’s scalp was only slightly cut and the bleeding had
stopped, but a livid swelling had risen under his dark hair.

  “May not be too bad, but we’d better have a physician examine you,” Mr. Hardy said. “Biff, you might do with some medical attention, too.”

  “I’ll call for a squad car to stand by at the police wharf,” Collig promised.

  While the chief was speaking over the radiotelephone, Joe told his brother how a cottager had reported seeing a motorboat adrift near Green Point. “It was probably the Sleuth with you lying inside it.”

  “But who brought it downriver from the plant?” Frank asked, puzzled.

  “Let’s go over the whole sequence of events,” Mr. Hardy suggested as Chief Collig emerged from the deckhouse. “You boys heard the alarm, then ran up to the plant, found Biff, and heard the car drive away. Is that how it happened?”

  “That’s right,” Joe said. “The funny thing is the alarm and the sound of the car came only a couple of minutes apart. I don’t see how they could have cracked the safe in that short time.”

  “No problem there,” put in Collig. “What you fellows heard was an auxiliary alarm that was tripped when the safe door opened.”

  “Sure. The main alarm probably never went off at all,” Biff added, “because they didn’t break in. They used my keys.”

  “Then that explains everything!” Frank snapped his fingers excitedly. “One of the crooks must have been waiting in their car, keeping a lookout. I’ll bet he panicked when he heard the safe alarm and saw Joe and me running up with our flashlights.”

  “So he scrammed in the car and left his partner, or partners, stranded inside the plant,” Joe concluded.

  “Right,” said Frank. “And then whoever got left behind sneaked out the back door, spotted the Sleuth, and used that to make a getaway.”

  “Wow! You’re lucky he didn’t dump you overboard, pal!” Biff commented.

  Frank grinned wryly. “Maybe he figured I’d be more useful as a hostage if he ran into trouble.”

  Both Chief Collig and Mr. Hardy agreed with the boys’ reconstruction of the crime.

  Meanwhile, the launch was proceeding back to Bayport Harbor at a fast clip, trailing the Sleuth behind it on a towline. A squad car was waiting when they tied up at the police wharf. Chief Collig, Fenton Hardy, and the boys all climbed in with its two officers, and the car sped off to Bayport Hospital.

  Here the Hardys and Biff got out. The policemen continued on to the Lektrex plant. In the emergency room a doctor examined Biff and Frank. He dressed the latter’s head injury and said that other than this, neither youth appeared to have suffered any ill effects.

  “What about Iola’s party?” Biff asked as they walked out of the hospital.

  “I’m all for going,” said Frank. “Okay, Dad?”

  Mr. Hardy hesitated. “Well ... I think you’d both be better off in bed, but if you really feel up to it, I guess there’s no objection. I’ll go back to Lektrex and find out what was taken.”

  The boys debated whether to get Frank and Joe’s convertible, parked near their boathouse, or refuel the Sleuth and go upriver to the landing stage near the Morton farm. Since they were already late, the group decided to take the car.

  “We can drop Dad off on the way, and pick up the Sleuth tomorrow,” said Joe.

  The four taxied to the waterfront and transferred to the convertible. Twenty minutes later they pulled up at the Lektrex plant. Jason Warner, who was just coming out to his own car, hailed the Hardys.

  “Looks as though your warning about a raid was correct, boys,” he said to Frank and Joe ruefully.

  “Did they make much of a haul?” Joe asked.

  “Not much. Luckily there was less than two hundred dollars in the safe.”

  “No technical material taken?” Fenton Hardy asked with a puzzled frown.

  Warner shook his head. “So far as we can determine, no. Of course if they’d had time to comb through our engineering files, it might’ve been a different story. But even then it would have been hard for them to pick out what was important.”

  Frank had a sudden hunch. “What about that stuffed fox in your conference room, sir? Was it stolen?”

  “The stuffed fox?” Warner stared at Frank. “Why, I really didn’t notice.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to take a look.”

  All three youths piled out of the convertible and hurried into the plant with the two men. Jason Warner entered the conference room first and switched on the overhead fluorescent lights. An instant later his jaw dropped in astonishment.

  The stuffed fox was gone!

  CHAPTER XIV

  Treasure Hunt

  “GREAT Scott!” Warner looked as if he could hardly believe his eyes, on discovering that the stuffed fox was missing from its shelf.

  Then he swung around to Frank. “Young man, is this some kind of a joke?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then how in the world did you know that the fox had been taken?” Warner demanded sharply.

  “I didn’t know. It was just a guess,” Frank replied. “You see, a number of stuffed animals have been stolen around Bayport lately and Joe and I were asked to investigate. We still haven’t discovered what’s behind the thefts.”

  The Lektrex president frowned. “This case seems to be getting more mysterious by the minute. To begin with, I thought we were up against a ring of industrial spies. Instead, they crack the safe and steal our petty cash. And now you’re talking about a series of stuffed animal robberies!”

  “The same gang seems to be behind the animal thefts and the trade-secret espionage,” said Fenton Hardy. “We don’t know the connection yet, but there certainly must be one.”

  Warner gave a baffled shrug. “Well, let’s hope some clue can be gleaned from tonight’s break-in that will help clear things up.”

  The boys left the plant to head for Iola and Chet’s party. As they drove away, Joe shot a quizzical glance at his brother. “Do you suppose the thieves just happened to stumble on the fox during the robbery?”

  “Stumble on it? No, sir!” said Frank. “If they just came to crack the safe, it’s not likely they’d even have looked in the conference room. I’d be willing to bet the fox was their real motive and the safe-cracking just a cover-up.”

  “Listen, you guys! Clue me in, will you?” said Biff. “What gives with this stuffed animal racket? And why should a gang of thieves go to so much trouble to swipe a stuffed fox?”

  “We’re as much in the dark as you are,” Frank said wryly. “Our guess is that one of the animals must contain something valuable. Maybe Chet’ll crack the case for us tonight, if we’re lucky.”

  Biff was excited after the Hardys had given him details. “Boy, what an evening! First a robbery and now a hidden treasure!”

  The Morton farmhouse was aglow with light, and gay dance music from Iola’s hi-fi came throbbing out on the crisp night air. As the Hardys’ convertible pulled up, Chet popped onto the veranda to greet the three latecomers.

  “Hey! What kept you guys so long? Iola and Callie wouldn’t even let me serve the food till you got here! You want me to starve to death?”

  “Starve!” Joe burst out laughing. “Listen, Chet, you have enough surplus poundage stored up to hibernate for the winter!”

  “Oh yeah? I’m down to a mere shadow from waiting for you slowpokes! What’s your excuse?”

  “Nothing special—just the crime of the century, that’s all,” Biff said casually.

  “Crime of the century!” Iola gasped. Callie Shaw, Tony Prito, Phil Cohen, and the other party guests came crowding around the doorway as the boys entered. “What do you mean?”

  “I got chloroformed, the Lektrex plant got looted, and Frank got kidnapped.”

  “What!” There was an explosion of questions from all sides. The teen-agers listened and chattered excitedly as Biff and the Hardys related their night’s harrowing adventures.

  When the boys finished, Callie linked her arm through Frank’s and led him to an ea
sy chair. “What you need is some rest and refreshment. How about some fruit punch to start with?”

  “Aaah!” Frank sank down with a contented grin.

  “Double portion!”

  Iola was fixing cushions on the sofa for Joe and Biff. “Someone pass those appetizers, please. Chet, you get busy on the hamburgers!”

  “Now you’re talking, Sis!” The chubby youth went bounding toward the kitchen.

  Soon the party was in full swing again. Games and more dancing followed the refreshments. Finally the moment arrived for the “grand opening” of Chet’s bear and aardvark. But before he could make the necessary preparations, his friends started to needle him about his rising-dough fish.

  The young taxidermist took the ribbing goodnaturedly. “Okay, funny folks.” He set down his tools and rubbed his hands briskly. “Let’s clear a little work space here!”

  Newspapers were spread on the living-room floor, and the two stuffed animals set in the center. With professional flare Chet donned an apron and opened his taxidermy kit.

  “Do you really think there could be a treasure inside one of them?” Callie asked eagerly.

  “It’s just a hunch,” Joe murmured.

  “Chet, are you sure you’ll be able to put the beasts together again?” Iola queried.

  “Sure, nothing to it!” Chet gave the aardvark a last affectionate pat. “Hate to do this, old boy, but you’re in the best professional hands.”

  Turning the animal on its side, the pudgy craftsman opened his taxidermy kit and began work like a surgeon. Tony Prito assisted.

  “Medium scalpel.”

  “Medium scalpel!” Tony echoed, slapping the instrument into Chet’s outstretched hand.

  “Paring knife.”

  “Paring knife!”

  “Small surgical scissors and hammer.”

  “Small surgical scissors and hammer!”

  Working with deft strokes, Chet carefully opened the underside of the aardvark. The job proved more difficult than expected. As he removed a section of the inner shell structure, a hush fell over the party guests.

  Frank and Joe watched impatiently, fingers crossed. Were they on the verge of solving the baffling mystery of the Batter estate?